I'm Not Sorry
by Kas and Bree
Summary: Wheelie tells his story to to someone unknown to the reader, revealing things he prefers to keep hidden about himself. Rated T just to be safe. R&R please; this's my first story, so want to know what others think of it. (Kas's work)
1. LV-117

**~Author's Note~** _This's a story for Wheelie in TFPrime; it's a combination of the_ Spotlight: Wheelie _comic,_ The Story of Wheelie, the Wild Boy of Quintesson _storybook_ _, and then my own ideas._

 _Part 1 reviewed by TFMegatron on DeviantArt; some things in here were his idea, so I give him credit for all the help he was with this._

* * *

"Yeah I rhyme, all the time- but there's a big freaking reason. And I don't fragging care if with that, you find idiosyncrasies in. My name is Wheelie, and I _choose_ to speak this way, really. If you want to hear my story, then fine, I'll tell it to you now; and to finish it without rhyming on purpose, I certainly will vow...

...

"It's...fuzzy to me now. I don't really remember much of what happened the cycle my creators made the decision that we were going to flee from our home planet of Cybertron- couldn't tell you what they said, everything they'd decided, when we'd leave and for how long. I...can't even remember the city I'd been born in. Or...it's ruins I guess I should say. I couldn't even tell you my creator's designations I'd been so young when we fled. They'd wanted to keep me out of the war, wanted to keep me safe- they gave me the one possession I'd never give up, even if I grew a little large to actually be able to use it. I can remember my sire going down on one knee in front of me, my carrier behind him, holding his shoulders as he held the object out to me.

"I can remember the soft glow in his golden optics; the gentle smile offered to me on his dark grey lips; his rich, gentle voice.

"'Wheelie,' he'd said, holding out a navy blue, lighter-striped slingshot to me and a handful of metal pellets to go with it, 'We're giving you this in case there ever comes a time we can't protect you. Always keep it in your sight. Understood?'

"'Yes, Daddy.'

"I remember my carrier wasn't the most pleased with giving me a weapon- but they'd both agreed it was needed. We'd be going off-planet, who-knows-where, to escape the war between the Autobots and Decepticons. They hadn't wanted to take a side, stubbornly remaining Nails (Neutrals) up until the moment they got the ship they'd spent so long saving up for. At the time, I didn't understand. I'd been too young, naive, carefree- but now, I understand too well. They'd seen wrongs with both factions; one mecha from the Decepticons could have a gentler spark than most 'bots, one 'bot could commit merciless murder far worse than a 'con. They were both wrong, my creators must've believed. They...maybe they hadn't wanted to become killers; and I bet they didn't want me to grow up around bloodshed and hatred.

"So we fled. They strapped me in tight in the third row of seats, putting some of their weapons in the second row where they could reach- just in case, they'd said- and they took the pilots' seats up front. I can remember being lulled into recharge from my carrier's gentle humming of a sweet lullaby, her cerulean optics glancing back at me every once in a while until my shutters closed over my own eyes.

"The next thing I'd known, my creators were shouting, trying desperately to change our ship's course. My servos had pressed against the glass, optics that'd still been recalibrating from their sudden onlining looking out the window to my left. Our ship's systems were starting to fail. They'd driven us right into a radiation belt without realizing- at least, not until it'd been too late.

"They couldn't take control of the ship. I remember a scream splitting from my lips as we'd been dragged into an unfamiliar planet's atmosphere by its gravitational pull. They'd kept trying, and trying, to regain control.

"But as we'd hit the ground, my head slammed against the window and everything blacked out.

"When my optics opened again, everything was blurry and my whole frame ached. Most of the windows were completely shattered- I used the broken glass to cut myself free of my harness. I'd found that my slingshot had also slid across the center aisle- I'd probably dropped it during the crash.

"When I went to pick it up, I was met by the sight of my creators... The front of our ship'd been completely caved in; I couldn't see anything from them at the waist down. Energon was already pooling. I'd probably woken up shortly after blacking out.

"I'd gone over to my carrier first, shaking her shoulder harshly, shouting at her to please wake up. Telling her it was alright, telling her someone'd come soon to help us. But as I'd been shaking her shoulder, her head had been turned; looking back at me were black optics, and her forehead had been completely bashed in by the dash. I'd backed away from her, my back then bumping my sire's servo.

"At first I'd been afraid to turn around to look at him; afraid of what horror would meet me.

"'Whee...eelie?' His servo had been weak, but it managed to take hold of my arm just barely. It was enough to get my attention.

"'D-daddy...?' I had turned to look at him only after I'd heard his voice, felt his touch. His optics, that I remember glowing so brightly, filled with hope and love just before we'd left, were now dull and tired. Energon trickled from a deep gash in the side of his head; a broken part of one of the levers (that _had_ been in front of him on the dash) was embed deep into his chest.

"'Go-" He'd growled before finishing that order, his dentia grinding together and a shaky servo reaching for the rod buried in his chest. Stained digits curled around its base. 'Go find...h-help, Wheelie... Now. Go, ge-gnhhh...' I'd covered my optics at that moment, as he groaned and pulled the lever out of his chest; tossing it aside and then covering the wound to try to stem the leakage.

"I'd been so terrified as I watched him bleed out- his words had fallen on deaf audios as he kept trying to usher me out, even resorting to yelling at me to get me to leave when I hadn't budged. But I'd stayed there, right by his side despite his shouting, his cursing, when he'd begun coughing up energon; I'd stayed through it all. Right up until he fell silent, until his dull optics offlined and he quit struggling to get his legs freed from where they were being literally crushed beneath the caved-in part of our ship. Right up until I cried out at feeling out creator-offspring bond shattering.

"I'd backed away when his frame went limp. The image of my creators leaking energon, their spark-chambers partially crushed, lower frames trapped- it still burns like a hot brand in my processors.

"I'm only alive right now because they'd been cautious enough about the war to put their weapons in the second row of seats, and I in the third. If I'd been any closer to the front, I would've suffered the exact same fate: being half-crushed, trapped, and maybe, like my sire, bleeding out slowly until my spark couldn't hold up any longer. My carrier- unlike my sire- was fortunate though; she'd been offlined on impact, while he'd slowly leaked out and I stood by and watched- helpless to do anything for him.

"It was something I'll never forget, never be able to purge from my data-banks. Maybe, if I'd been older at the time, it would be easier to move past it- but it left a scar on my processors that's slowly rusting over. It haunts me every time I close my optics- I've woken up screaming before because I can't stop seeing the images. That event will probably always haunt me- much like the fact that afterward, I just...left.

"I didn't run, I didn't even cry. Still to this day I think it's because of the shock, how quickly it'd happened that my processors hadn't quite caught up with me. I tried to find someone, anyone, to help me; to save my creators even though I already had known they wouldn't be waking up. I felt alone, confused. At the time, I'd been so young; I hadn't understood why they had to leave me alone. I hadn't understood why they couldn't come with me- sure, now as a more matured mech from that experience, I know it couldn't have been helped, but back then... I just wanted someone by my side; I hadn't wanted to feel alone. So what do you expect happened when I encountered the first inhabitant on the odd planet we'd crashed on?

"My creators had taught me some...Universal Greeting, they'd called it. 'Bah Weep Graaagnah Wheep Ni Ni Bong', I think it went. The inhabitant definitely wasn't looking to be friends... The creature (I later found out it was called a 'Chaosteros') came right up to me. It was fragging huge- especially compared to a Mini-Bot youngling like me. I can still remember in vivid detail what it felt like when unbearable pain tore through my left arm, the beast's fangs cutting through the limb like it was nothing. I remember fragging _screaming_ as it tore my arm off my frame, swallowed it whole, and just...lumbered away. It had been the first creature I'd met on that planet, and already things were trying to kill me.

"It had hurt like _fragging Pit_ , I tell you... I'd fallen to my knees, clutching the joint at my shoulder that no longer connected with anything; dentia bared and optics shut tight. I wasn't really sure what to do- but I knew I'd need to get the arm back. Without it, I couldn't collect the items I'd be needing, I couldn't defend myself; I'd die out there. I remember grimacing as I pinched the broken energon-line with my digits until it stopped leaking, trying hard not to gag or purge. I'd heard my carrier, who'd been a medic even before the war, talking about how to do certain procedures all the time. Sometimes she even showed me her data-pad of medical information, and would tell me what all the pictures meant; how to discern the pictures to repair someone. I knew I'd have to do it on my own, that I couldn't just start wandering without the limb. My hopes of finding anyone to help me had plummeted to the deepest and darkest part of my spark that cycle.

"I can remember getting back to my pedes, clutching the empty joint and knees shaking a bit before I'd been able to collect my bearings- and I followed after the beast. I don't know how long I'd followed it in circles around our crashed ship as it'd hunted other organics before I'd been able to retrieve my arm from its scat. It...wasn't pleasant on the olfactory sensors, I'll tell you... My arm luckily hadn't been digestible, and passed straight through its systems; the only thing wrong with it was that the paint had been stripped, leaving it a pale silver-gray, and the the rubber on the tire was also gone.

"I carried my limb back to our ship- hoping, praying my carrier had brought her medical supplies, and that if she did they hadn't been destroyed in the crash. I was lucky; she'd put all of the supplies in a compartment at the back of the aisle- everything in sound condition. With the supplies, packed away carefully were explosives. I'd ignored the case of explosives, going right for the data-pad and medical supplies. I went through my carrier's notes until I found some on how to reattach a limb.

"I'd quickly realized it would be a lot harder to do than I thought- especially with only one available servo and the illiteracy I'd had at the time. Not only that, but the sight of the detached limb itself had caused my tank to churn; it was sickening. The armor pierced in various places, the protoform underneath shredded at any point that the fangs had met; some of the punctures even passing all the way through the limb. It wasn't a pretty sight, and I hadn't been very confident on my abilities to get it reattached at the time. But I'd known I had to try- no matter how sick it made me feel.

"It's...it's hard to forget something like that. Maybe if I'd been older, maybe if I'd seen war, maybe... But I hadn't. I'd been thrown onto that fragging planet, and was alone for so slagging long, at such a young _freaking_ age! I'd been forced to come up with ways to survive- and I'd survived only because I built up the bearings to reattach my own slagging arm that cycle. After that, it all started to come so much easier...

"I'd figured out a way to get it reattached; using a broken, bent beam from outside the ship to hold the arm at an angle at the elbow, and cutting away some of the harnesses from their seats to tie the beam and keep my arm in one place, hanging from one of the seats so I could lean back against the wall. I remember the troubles I had at first with keeping the arm against my shoulder- I'd actually ended up putting my slingshot's pouch at the elbow, and the handle between my dentia, so that it'd stopped swinging every time I tried getting joint and wiring redone.

"It was difficult, and I'd ended up needing to restart the process a couple of times (the images in my carrier's data-pad had been difficult to discern for some areas), or because I'd felt the need to purge. At least four times, I'd retched up a small amount of energon before I'd been able to continue with the...'procedure' on myself. Eventually, despite my troubles, I'd been able to reattach it well enough I could move it without difficulty in most directions, and the digits'd still worked right. It ached pretty badly, yeah- but I did what I could to fix up the bite marks.

"Had I been scared? Frag yeah, I was. Where the Pit was I? What the slag would I do now? For all I knew back then, the only inhabitants of that planet could've been the feral animals that'd attack something the moment they saw movement.

"What was I suppose to do...?

"I'll tell you exactly what the slag I did.

"I'd started looking through weapons to start with; the only ones I could carry effectively- and probably even be able to use- were the small explosives. Once I got good with my slingshot they'd fit perfectly with it. I subspaced quite a few of the explosives, collected the rest of the pellets my sire'd packed away for me and did the same with them, as well as my carrier's data-pad and some of the smaller medical supplies. I took a broken panel from outside, made it into a sled using the harnesses I'd already cut away, and put some of the items I knew I'd be needing on it: some extra panels, the remaining medical supplies and explosives; and then I left, for the second time that cycle.

"I took to the jungle, finding a slight rise and set up some of the panels in a tent-like structure that'd keep liquids (rain, mostly) from dripping onto me and rusting my frame. On one side of me, to the back of my shelter, there was a drop off; the other side, to the front, a gradual slope. That'd ensured that if something tried to attack me, it could only come up from the front of my makeshift shelter, letting me see what it was long before it reached me.

"Ya know, until I found out there were these big, flying creatures on the planet that always attacked from the side with the drop off. They hadn't been that hard to scare off, but I will tell you that because of them and other creatures of the nocturnal hour, I had a lot of sleepless nights.

"I'd started training myself with my slingshot within my third or fourth cycle on that planet. But I'll tell you, the first time I'd used it... I'd pulled back on the bands, a metal pellet in the pouch, but let go way too early and ended up shooting myself in the wrist. I'd yelped pretty fragging loudly because not only did the pellet hit me in the exposed protoform located there and drew a little energon, but the band had snapped my servo, too. There's actually still a little mark in my wrist because I'd been just that 'good' at repairing myself.

"I never went too far from my shelter- the farthest I'd ever go was back to the crashed ship to collect more panels, salvage what I could, and collect what'd been saved from our energon-reserves.

"You know...I was forced to grow up, mature, far too quickly because of that crash. How many younglings to you know who can reattach their own limb (even though it hadn't really been done right), or try to kill or injure something without crying about it afterward? Alright, I'll admit I don't have much of a guilt-conscious- but it's kinda hard to have one when you've gotta kill just to survive a single cycle, isn't it? Out there, it was kill or _be_ killed- so don't go and judge, you got it?

"I ended up collecting the energon converter from our ship- that was _literally_ the only component from it that still worked right- and strapped it to my back using some of the harnesses. Don't ask me why I took it; I'd, very literally, just been collecting everything I could've salvaged- including that cumbersome thing. I'd ended up taking a couple of the harnesses, too- they'd helped me a lot by that point already, and it would've been a waste to leave them behind.

"I never had gone to the front of our ship again. I'd been there for nearly a year by that time, so it'd smelled of stale energon and rust inside; I didn't want to see what my creators looked like with their armor slowly being eaten away by the red disease. Yeah, I'd matured beyond my age; but would _you_ want to see your carrier or sire's offline frame slowly being devoured by rust? I didn't think so. Now shut the frag up if you want to hear the rest of this story, you got it? I'm not enjoying telling any of this. I _will_ stop right now without second thought if you don't listen. _You_ wanted to hear it, so you'd better shut your mouth and tune your audios.

"Over that time, I got pretty good with my slingshot; able to hit targets from as far as the weapon would allow once I'd gotten enough practice with it. I could injure the large, flying creatures (I never did learn their name) with it; I once even wounded a Chaosteros by shooting an explosive at its eye.

"But even with my supplies and my ability to actually use my weapon by that point accurately, I couldn't have stayed. My energon-supply'd begun running low. My creators had planned to go to a planet where they'd been paying a smuggler to get a bunch of energon to, so hadn't brought a lot for the trip- too bad we'd never reached the planet they'd initially planned on stopping at for pickup. There'd only been enough there that, for just me alone, I could've gotten it to last nearly a year- but that time'd almost been used up when I decided I needed to leave.

"So with energon-converter once more strapped to my back, taking a single panel from my shelter and once more converting it into a sled, I took what I'd needed and left in search of some way I could keep myself from starving. I went back to our crashed ship one last time to collect what was left of the dwindling energon-stores (as long as I was careful with rationing myself, I could have gotten it to last me a few more weeks), paid final respects to my creators, and then went on my way. I never looked back.

"I'd traveled through the jungle for who-knows-how-long (my chronometer had been fragged up in the crash, and the only way I knew the time that passed was whenever night fell. I'd long since lost track of the exact cycles in my time there), before I found my way out of it, and into the desert.

"In that desert, I remember how hot it was, how much faster I was going through my energon as my frame overheated and used it faster than I would've liked. I can remember my fear of dying out there- and the fact I'd been ambushed by lone, spider like creatures ('Arachnosaurs', I later found out) didn't help any. They were definitely huge pains in the aft- spilling some of my energon, trying to take bites out of me after springing out of their hiding places where they'd bury themselves in the sand- just waiting for you to get close enough. Within my first few cycles in that desert, one'd ambushed me and attacked me from behind- it bit down on my energon-converter.

"If...if it hadn't been there, the Arachnosaur would've taken off my head. I can remember that it'd run before I could even get my slingshot ready, and then I'd been stuck for two slagging cycles making repairs to the converter so that it'd stop leaking, finding one of the spider-beast's mandibles stuck in it. I figured that had been why it ran off so quickly- it'd been injured, and probably died out there when it'd lost the use of its powerful mandibles. Well good riddance.

"Eventually I'd learned to be able to tell where the creatures were at by watching the sand carefully. I'd started teaching myself to watch for inconsistencies, patterns, in the sand; the Arachnosaurs were good at hiding themselves, but there was always a slight shift in the way the sand settled over the ground, the way it sometimes seemed so alive once I got dangerously close. I'd taught myself to just be very careful in that desert- it was there I'd developed a keen eye.

"It was out there where I'd run across some other crash-sites, and was able to build up my energon and medical stores whenever I'd go into the ships and take a look around for valuables. One of them was actually a merchant ship, and had tons of credits aboard- I'd completely ignored them, and went straight for the goods. The energon- high-grade- wouldn't have been any good to me and just make me feel more fuel-deprived and mess with my processors and reaction time; but I'd figured I could find some other things of use. I'd stayed at the crashed ship for the night-cycle, I remember; using whatever I'd found on it to reinforce my slingshot, making it stronger so that it wouldn't break if I pulled back too hard; making something for my hip so that I could put the weapon there instead of holding it at all times (hey, your digits would start locking up too if they were curled around a weapon all day and night). It's because I'd reinforced my slingshot that night I was able to survive on yet another planet- but that's a story for later.

"The mechs who'd been aboard that merchant ship were Nails, just like my creators and in turn, myself if their lack of symbols was any indicator; I remember that they'd all been offline- the pilots, the passengers, everyone. One mech looked like he'd suffered similar fate that my sire had over a year ago by that time, a lever embed into his spark-chamber and old energon pooled around his chair on the floor. Another mech had caused me to scream unconsciously when I'd found his frame- _just_ his frame, I might add. A ceiling beam from above had partially collapsed because of their crash from the looks of it and, while the mech was still strapped into his chair, the beam'd been in place of his head- which I'd found had rolled to the other side of the aisle. That...that was definitely disturbing, and kinda hard to forget...

"I'd tried their ship's comm. despite there being one mech to the left of me with a rod sticking out of his chest, and his copilot to my right with a beam- the same one that'd also been replacing the head of the mech behind her- pierced through the back of her seat and sticking out of her abdominal plating from the front. Unfortunately, just like any other ships I'd already tried by that point, all of that one's systems had also been down.

"As soon as the sun had risen again that cycle, after I'd recharged in the weapon-stores room to be away from all those offline frames, I took one last look around the place. I'd ended up changing my old welder for repairs with one that had full fuel, and also cut away some of the harnesses (they were good quality, and probably would work a lot better than the ones I'd taken from our ship since they'd become so worn by that time). A last run through of my supplies- energon, pellets, taking some more explosives from the merchants' ship, harnesses, medical supplies, slingshot, energon-converter- once I could say 'check' that I had all of them, I left to continue my trek.

"It hadn't been long thereafter (six, seven cycles later, max) that I could see a ship spiraling out of the sky in the distance. I can remember hope having bubbled up in my spark; could that be my way out? Could I finally get off that planet after being alone for so long? I can remember grimacing when it'd crashed behind one of the many dunes in my path- that had my hope faltering, when I could see the smoke rising from the crash-sight. Maybe...maybe the pilots'd offlined... Maybe it'd been false hope like it always turned out to be, and I'd ended up getting excited over nothing- but I recall that at the time, _I didn't care_. A ship! A fragging, Cybertron-origin, _ship_! Maybe the pilots would offline from their crash- they never did seem to get lucky in the ones I'd found yet- but I'd actually witnessed that crash. I thought that, just maybe, I could at least reach their comm.s before it shut down.

"I remember how excited I'd gotten, even how wide my optics had grown. I'd almost dropped the harnesses holding my sled so that I could just run I'd been so hopeful back then. But I knew that it would be a waste of fuel if I'd gone all that way, only to need to turn back to get my sled, and then go back in that direction again. So then I just started running, dragging the panel with my supplies behind me, before attempting to transform. I'd been so fragging excited to have seen that ship- the _first_ Cybertronian life that possibly was still, oh I don't know; _alive!_ \- that I'd forgotten how much of a mistake that would be. I'd immediately screamed in agony, forgetting that as I hadn't connected my arm overly well all that time ago, it didn't transform right. I'd already had to drive away from Arachnosaurs if there'd been more than one at once, and that was when I'd first discovered that transforming caused excruciating pain in the limb. I remember groaning as I'd slowly willed my frame to shift back into its bipedal form- then I just started running, hoping I could reach that ship in time.

"Once I'd got past the other dunes that'd been in my way, reaching the last one that the ship'd crashed behind, I wasn't really sure what I was supposed to expect. My excitement had simmered down after my attempted transformation, and instinct kicked back in. That ship had just crashed- I couldn't just run down there. What if the mecha on board were aggressive, unsafe? What if they weren't even Cybertronians at all, and just acquired a Cybertron-model ship through some means?

"I decided to play it safe, reaching the top of the dune and ducking down, looking carefully at what might have been happening down there. At first, I remember relief settling over me- two Cybertronian mechs, identical, were out of their ship and looked for the most part uninjured. I'd been almost ready to run down there to greet them, until I saw the purple glints of their symbols on their chests in the scorching sunlight. Decepticons. I couldn't miss the mark. My carrier's medical notes had the symbols of both so-called factions, stating below them that a majority of the Autobots were ground-models, while 'cons were usually flight-capable. To me, just a youngling, that violet insignia looks just as evil now as it did to me back then. It reminds me of the face of a monster you'd see in your dreams- harsh, sharp angles that somehow managed to draw you closer; and before you realized your mistake it'd lash out and slice your throat open just as you jerk awake with a scream.

"The fact that those two mechs had another creature, some alien species I hadn't yet seen on this planet, held captive and ready to torture him? It didn't improve my opinion. I mean, of course back then I wouldn't have trusted an Autobot either- but the 'con symbol just always gave me a very uneasy feeling...

"Those two wouldn't be helping me, I'd soon realized. They'd rather take me and do to me whatever they were planning to do to the alien creature if they saw me. So I was careful, sliding down the dune while keeping out of the mechs' sights. I'd ended up getting pretty close to them- and almost ended up smacking myself because I had no fragging plan up to that point. I needed a distraction; I needed to get onto their ship, but they would see me instantly if I'd tried to sneak on it. Then I'd set my sights on the alien, took aim with my slingshot, and fired one of my pellets at the device keeping him trapped.

"I remember smirking to myself when it'd caused just the distraction I'd been look for, freeing the strange creature so that he'd taken off, the 'cons quickly pursuing. Sure, I was concerned of what'd happen to him if they managed to catch him again, but the thought of getting off that planet made me immediately forget my concern. Maybe, just maybe... But my hopes had once more been shattered. Their ship, like my own and the others I'd found in the desert, was damaged beyond repairs and their communications had already shut down. I could've broken down at that moment, could've just dropped everything and given up on ever getting off that planet. But I didn't; I wanted off that planet, yeah- but until I was able to get off, I'd just have to keep fighting.

"I can remember turning around, ready to leave that ship, and then yelping at the sight of a third mech- this one also identical to the other two. He'd been impaled through the chest by the shattered canopy window by the looks of it, and I wasn't sure if he was still online or not. I'd unconsciously rubbed at my own chest-panel at the sight of him- the glass in his chest was wider than I am tall, and I don't even want to _try_ imagining what it felt like.

"I'd gotten off the ship, decided I'd best leave before the other two 'cons returned and trapped me in it. I'd survived that long- I _was not_ going to just become some prisoner after struggling to stay online for so long.

"I'd ended up deciding my best course of action would be to track the creature I'd set free, and I'd ended up following his tracks into an old ruin. At first, I didn't know where he was; but I _did_ see his ship.

"I'd felt so close to tears when I saw it; it wasn't crashed, and was standing tall and proud in front of a platform; a ladder leading into the open hatch. It'd almost looked like it was waiting for me all that time. I'd...been so distracted by that ship, everything that it could've meant for me, I hadn't even noticed the alien until he'd attacked me. He seemed...larger than I thought he'd first looked when I'd set him free. Despite that change in size, he wasn't very heavy compared to me- but an organic, while I'm made entirely of metal. It hadn't been too hard to get him off my back. I'd spoken a few quick words before he could do anything again, and (after it'd looked like he hesitated a bit) he shrank back down to what I think was his natural size- a little shorter than me. Heh...I can remember my confusion- an organic with some kind of transforming ability? But it'd been quick to jump to my processors that, whatever his species was (still to this day I couldn't tell you its name) could probably change their physical sizes- a shape-shifter, if you will.

"Once he'd realized I wasn't going to hurt him, we talked. He was a native to the planet, I'd found out. And he...spoke entirely in rhyme. I remember looking at him with so much confusion when he'd started talking to me. Luckily the alien, Varta, had a universal translator chip in his necklace, and we'd been able to speak without difficulty. Or...at least he could speak to me. But he hadn't really been able to understand me, and I'm being truthful here. I wasn't rhyming, so he had no slagging clue what I'd been saying at first.

"'Your words are jumbled, strange, a structure we must rearrange,' he'd said.

"So I'd tried my own rhyme in hopes of having him understand: 'Um. Wheelie is, ah, my given name, and...er...you and I are a bit the same.'

"I can remember jumping and flinching slightly when his translator necklace made a loud beep and the words _Syntax Error_ were all but yelled from it. Varta had looked up at me, tapping his chin a moment. 'Cadence, meter, and pitch are all vital to the switch.'

"'Everyone's a critic.'

"Varta did reveal to me that his ship was space-worthy, but that it was missing its power source and needed a patch-up. Of course, I was _more_ than willing to give him my energon-converter for that missing power-source. He showed me how to work on the ship, teaching me what I could do to repair it. You know, at first I hadn't even realized that I'd adopted his strange form of speech- rhyming starting to come so naturally to me as the time went on. Varta taught me about his planet (LV-117 being its name), the names of some of the creatures I'd encountered, taught me his language, even. 'Course, I couldn't speak in it fluently even if I wanted to; but I still remember some simple phrases- greetings, farewells, common questions and their answers, things like that.

"Varta even worked on my arm a bit. Yeah, it still hurt like Pit when I'd transform, but it was at least bearable from what it had been before. Though I'll tell you...even to this day I still get phantom pains that tear through my circuits in my left arm whenever I least expect it.

"We were able to repair the ship, just about ready to leave- until the two Decepticons who'd captured Varta following their crash ambushed us. I'd already been on board when they shot Varta in the back. My spark'd felt like it stopped when he'd collapsed at their pedes- but there was no wound. I hadn't understood why that was until the 'cons said they'd only used a stun setting on him. My relief had disappeared quickly when they said that they'd finish Varta off if I didn't let them have the ship. At first, I hadn't really known what to do. Was I supposed to climb out of the ship to allow the mechs to take it, or take off despite their threats to finish off the alien, ending out friendship short? I could have left, just abandoned Varta right then and there- and yeah, I actually had considered that I'm not the most proud to admit. I was just going to leave him behind so I could get off-planet; I'd been there for too long- but I didn't want to fall to a Decepticon's level. And...Varta was my friend, the only one I'd had for a long, long time; it wouldn't have been right to leave him there.

"It's because of that cycle I decided if I _ever_ got off LV-117, I'd _never_ side with the Decepticons...

"I pulled the safety catch on the energon-converter- Varta had told me not to mess with it, because it'd cause a leak and more than likely an explosion if removed once the ship took off- and descended the ladder so that the 'cons could take the vessel. I'd knelt down to help the alien back to his feet- aside from being a little shaken, he hadn't been too badly hurt by the blast.

"I...told him I'd considered leaving. I'd told him the only reason I'd stayed, when he asked me why I'd give up my own freedom for his sake that, really?- it came down to faction. I didn't want to be like the Decepticons; if those two'd been any indication, it was an awful faction. But I hadn't felt _guilty_ when I told Varta I'd considered leaving. Not once can I ever remember feeling the emotion in my spark- from why my creators and I crashed, up until this very day.

"Varta and I had both looked up in time to see the ship explode, and the alien had immediately shot me a quizzical look- only to grin and clasp his hands together when I'd held up the safety catch for him to see. You know, I still don't know to this day if the 'cons had gotten out before the explosion since I'd been talking to the alien, and not paying much attention to anything else until that noise rang loud and clear through the sky. It still makes me laugh to think about Varta's reaction to the lightshow- the 'fireworks'- when that ship'd blown up.

"But after that, we were stranded. No way out. So we just started salvaging the ship and built ourselves a home near the ruins. Varta...became my best friend, and I loved him like a brother. I'd again felt _hope_ by that time; something I'd, truthfully, not been able to hold onto after the Chaosteros bit off my arm that single year ago.

...

"You know, it feels odd not to be rhyming. It's because of Varta, his teachings, that my hope again started climbing. Not like you'd know what I mean, since your life just took a sudden careen. But hey, I'll keep telling you my story- not like for what I've done to you I'm sorry."

Wheelie pauses his story and grimaces as he brings a welder against the mangled digits of his right servo, casting a glance to the frame at his left; the other Cybertronian isn't much bigger than himself, and their chest-panels were blown apart. Clearly the result of some sort of explosion. The mechling huffs with irritation when the other Cybertronian groans- that had gotten very annoying when he'd been telling his story...

The Mini-Bot's orange armor was dull and dirty; rusted in multiple places; stained with energon from himself and others (mostly his own) along his arms, chest, and servos. He'd long since stopped trying to keep his frame cleaned every time it got a speck of rust- he'd found it was a futile effort. He'd tried to help this Cybertronian after firing an explosive out of panic- the range had been too close, and the explosion resulted in almost blowing his own servo off as well.

He didn't feel bad about it, he never did when he made mistakes. Besides, the Cybertronian had been a Decepticon- a faction Wheelie had grown to distrust and hate long ago.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken with someone- sure, he'd started talking to himself and offline sharkticons or Cybertronians at crash-sites on Quintessa, and for a while had a group of Autobots he'd been with who'd taken him back to Cybertron; but they'd been separated months ago. He'd had nothing to occupy his processors, no one he could say anything to but himself as he'd wandered, scavenging for energon and spare parts so that he wouldn't offline. Now, he had someone to talk to- even if their spark might not even hold up long enough for him to finish his story...


	2. Tears Fall

Wheelie makes a pained groan when he takes his mangled servo in the opposite hand and twists and pushes on it until it pops back into place. He bites his dentia together as he repeats the process with each digit of that servo until the joints are lined back up as well as he's able to get them. It had been awfully twisted at the joints because of the explosion...

The mechling casts a side glance to the frame at his left, huffing irritably. They probably wouldn't even be able to stay online long enough for him to finish telling his story. Though if they did offline, maybe he'd be able to use parts of their servo to fix his own. Not like they'd be needing the parts where they were going, eh? Wheelie lived by one rule anymore: _Kill or be Killed_. And yes, that meant scavenging parts from those who wouldn't be needing theirs anymore. The fact that the Decepticon next to him is a Mini-Con would definitely make it easier for him to use their parts, too!

The mech leans back against the thick beam the other Cybertronian rests against- they'd been quiet for a while, but Wheelie was more concerned with getting his servo repaired at least enough he could move the digits than he was with the 'con's well-being. He picks his welder back up and goes at the knuckles that'd been torn open in the explosion, grimacing whenever he accidentally hits whatever sensory nodes had survived the blast.

There was a reason he didn't use his explosives from such a close range... But he'd panicked, the Decepticon had raised their weapon to him, and... _BAM!_...the youngling had made a split-second mistake. Ugh...the more time he was alone, the more mistakes he seemed to make. Or at least the more he seemed to _notice_ that he made...

His striking crystal blue optics- the only part of him not dull, scarred, or rusted- look to the Decepticon every few moments as he continues with his digits. Their armor was blackened by smoke from even before Wheelie'd used his weapon; their red optics glow very, very faintly. Sharp talons that twitch every so often are the only movement that the Cybertronian (a mech, he assumes judging by the structure of their face-plates and the more masculine voice) makes, and those twitches are far and in between. Wheelie sighs, leaning back against the beam and closing his optics; now for the waiting game.

And what better way to play it than to continue his story?

"Truthfully, I'm not sorry, but I'm happy to continue the story. Now, you better not get violent...better yet, just stay silent."

...

"As I said before, Varta and I were close; best friends, and like brothers. Honestly? We _didn't care_ that were were different species from different planets entirely; we knew each other so well. We played games, we worked on our home; some days, when we weren't in dire need of supplies, we'd even just sit in the shade and chat. I'd learned that Varta, at one point shortly before I'd met him, had been a Decepticon slave; that's why he had a translator necklace that allowed him to understand Cybertronians, and vice versa. He learned that I'd fled a war with my creators (parents, he called them), only for us to crash on this planet and them to be offlined because of it.

"He didn't ask me about my creators after realizing just how much it hurt- just how much it _still_ hurts- to talk about them. And that's something I always respected about him. Everyone else... _argh!_ I don't _want_ to be treated like an orphaned sparkling, frag it! I'm a _freaking survivor_ \- I don't need anyone's pity! I don't need anyone's support! I've lost everything! And you know what? It's forced me to mature; I grew up Pit of a lot faster than you probably had to!

"S-sorry- but I _really_ hate when I'm treated like I'm helpless. That's another thing about Varta: he let me work. He didn't make me sit anything out because I was 'too young'; we both had needed to work, or we both would've died out in that desert eventually. I helped him build, I helped him fend off desert dwellers like the Arachnosaurs if they'd attack us in the middle of the night (which they did _a lot_ ), I helped him scavenge and hunt. In turn, he did repairs on me and helped me find energon in crashed Cybertronian ships around the desert.

"We'd relied on each other like we were family- two lone nitrotigers who'd found it was a far safer alternative to stay at each other's sides than to wander and eventually be used as something's dinner. Or in my case, something _try_ to each me after taking my head off.

"Varta'd showed me so many things that I hadn't known how to do before. I know how to make affective weapons out of simple supplies, I know some minor self-defense for when I'm weaponless, I was taught how to use my Mini-Bot size to my advantage. Whenever he'd teach me new moves, he'd have me try them on him- making himself grow to at least three times my size and then showing me where and how to move to avoid his swipes at me and his steps. After a while, it turned into almost a dance between us; spinning, jumping, and twisting to try and catch or avoid being caught in my case.

"I...I admit that I don't remember a lot of that training- I'd gone so long afterward without using it that now I can only remember how to dodge correctly, and maybe where to hit certain weak points that might be in my reach depending the size of the mecha trying to catch me (the ankles and, _maybe_ , the knees). We'd eventually stopped though when I'd stepped on Varta's foot a few too many times- he'd ended up with broken toes or even the foot itself on more than one training bout...

"After Varta had decided we'd stop that since an organic and Cybertronian couldn't train safely very well, he'd just started showing me how best to take out the Arachnosaurs- they were mainly what he'd eat since there wasn't much other choice out there, and acted as target practice for me. So...win-win, I guess? Ya know, if you weren't the Arachnosaur being targeted.

"Sorry, I'm getting off track- none of that's too important, anyway.

"So...I guess I should get back to the main story, right? I-I know- I'm just not looking forward to what comes next. ...Yeah, I _am_ fragging procrastinating! There are some things that you just... Look, there are some things in your life you just don't like to think about, let alone talk about, ya got it? This...that...it's one of those things.

"I remember that it had been such a productive day. It wasn't unbearably hot like it usually was, so we'd been able to finish our daily tasks before it was even close to sundown. That meant we'd been able to get a little scavenging in at a ship that we'd discovered just a few cycles before; I'd needed energon since my supply was running low, and we'd been able to collect a few more weeks' worth. We'd managed to find some other things too: ropes and strings, new tools, and- what a treat!- a cleaning kit. Cleaning kits were so hard to come across- you've got _no_ idea how excited I'd get whenever we'd find one.

"Varta'd cleaned me off with the new kit- finally able to get rust that'd started coating my left arm cleaned off. And then we'd just sat in our shelter to wait for night to fall; once it got cooler, we had some roof-panels that needed replaced, but the metal of our home was way too hot during the day- even if the cycle did happen to be a bit cooler. He started teaching me how to make knots and braids in the ropes and twine- my sensitive digittips made it easy, even if they were made of metal.

"We'd joked and laughed with each other as we practiced braiding and knotting our new treasures. At one point I'd accidentally tied it around my finger, and it got stuck on the first knuckle. Oh, you should'a seen the time Varta had trying to untie it! When he had gotten it, I remember that he'd tried to turn his head to look at me, to tell me he finally freed the digit, and we smashed our foreheads together as a result. We'd both yelped- but I'll admit that I'd only done it because it'd surprised the slag outta me. Varta'd immediately gotten a lump on his head from it. And...we'd just laughed it off. Things like that happened all the time between us.

"They'd happened all the time, yet Varta stuck by my side.

"We'd...we'd been working on knots when we heard the ship overhead. The pilot had seen our makeshift shelter! We'd both perked up, Varta's pointed ears twitching. We'd looked at each other wide-eyed. Three years. Over three fragging years that I'd been with him, and we'd never run across anyone else 'less you count those who were dead in the ships we scavenged from. We'd both jumped up when that ship landed out front.

"Varta had grabbed his spear, while I'd made sure my slingshot was at its respective place at my hip. He'd been in the doorway when he held a hand up for me to stay put. He'd told me that I needed to stay so that he could see what these new arrivals wanted, and if they'd be willing to give us a lift off the planet. I hadn't been happy about it, but I knew that it'd be better for him- older than me at least mentally- to try striking a deal with whoever it'd been that landed.

"O-oh, Primus... I don't...I-I can't...

"I'd leaned against the doorway to our shelter when the hatch to that ship opened. A Cybertronian had descended that ramp. V-varta'd moved in to greet the stranger. I...I don't know if it was his spear, or his claws or fangs, or just the fact that he wasn't the other's own kind- but they'd looked _terrified_ when Varta stopped in front of them. They'd thrust their blade forward before I could even register what was happening. Varta's screamwas what woke me from a trance-like state.

"I-I remember covering my mouth and holding back my own cries when the other pulled the blade free of my best friend's already bloody chest. They'd looked at me with wide golden optics, then down at their crimson-dripping blade. I could see in his expression that he knew that'd been a huge mistake, and that he was immediately wishing he could call back on it. I...I didn't think in that moment... I'd made likely the stupidest mistake in my life when I saw Varta _fall._ I'd taken one of the explosives I'd found on another ship long before that event from subspace, took my slingshot from my hip, pulled the pin after fitting it into the bands and...I let it fly.

"The resulting explosion blasted the mech's head clean off and chest-panels wide open. Ya know...k-kinda like yours- but the o-one I'd used on you wasn't as powerful...

"I'd screamed Varta's name so loudly that my vocoder'd crackled with static from the strain of it. I don't remember actually running over the sand and falling to my knees at his side. I just recall that the next thing I knew, I was kneeling right there, holding his head up in the crook of my elbow. My other servo had moved to compress the wound- o-only for me...only to feel... P-primus, please... I f-felt his heart's final beat when I did that.

"Then it'd beat no more...

"I'd cried. I'd fragging _cried_ for the first time I could remember that cycle. I'd hunched over Varta, my face buried against his bloody chest. I hadn't tried to stop the coolant from rolling down my face and mixing with the crimson that dripped from the gaping wound. I hadn't moved from that spot until I'd felt the chill of night falling over me- in turn, Varta's once warm organic body had gone cold as well. The blood had long since stopped pooling into the sand, on my frame, and his own. I'd long since turned off his translator necklace- it had kept beeping and saying _Syntax Error_ because I wasn't speaking- _crying_ \- in a way that it could understand. It had only been when I stood so that I could take Varta closer to our shelter to give him a proper burial that I'd look at the other Cybertronian. he hadn't been overly large. Not small enough to call a Mini-Whatever-His-Faction-Was, but small enough that the explosive had such a major affect on him. I'd looked over his once-pristine white and red plates.

"My optics had landed on the medical cross displayed proudly on his hip-guards.

"He...m-might have been able to save Varta..."

...

Wheelie stops, shutting his cerulean optics tight. His digits tighten into fists until he whimpers as the damaged one creaks, and something snaps from in the knuckles. That memory was by far the most painful one his data-banks held. He turns his rusted, weld-scarred head to the MiniCon, cracking his optics open to look at them. Their optics were still online- dull, but online. Wheelie forces a smile; his bottom lip trembles a bit. "I could have had him saved," he murmurs softly to the 'con. "But I made sure his end was paved..."

* * *

 **AN:** I'll admit I got teary eyed writing this one...


	3. Quintessa

**AN:** Oops- almost forgot about INS...

Well, here's an update!

* * *

The Mini-Bot vents slowly to calm his emotions- he needed to keep them in check after all. Showing too much emotion got you killed. Showing too much concern got you killed. Letting others too close? You guessed it: it got you fragging killed. Wheelie learned his lessons the hard way. Varta, the Trials, the Sharkticons, growing close to an Autobot mech named Blurr and then being separated from him. Attachment was an awful thing; so was hope, too much emotion, and revealing fears.

Wheelie grumbles to himself and examines his damaged hand, glaring at the digits that had popped out of place and now rested at disgusting angles at the first knuckles. Grotesque injuries had stopped making him feel sick a long time ago. Now he found only irritation and yet another thing to add to his ever-growing list of 'Things that can Kill Me'. Some of the more bizarre things on that list included being eaten, being stepped on, rusting alive, being buried in the sand, illness by blood-energon-consumption (and in his defense, he'd only done _that_ because it was available and he'd been starving to death), and now he could add having difficulty doing anything with only one hand to it. That could tie in with failing to get fuel, defending himself, getting out of danger, and stealing supplies he'd be needing. Greeeaaat...

His blue gaze cuts toward the Mini-Con and he huffs out a half-sparked laugh. Pathetic. Both of them were. The 'con was dying before his very optics, and Wheelie himself was having trouble forming clear thoughts. He was starving again. He hadn't had any fuel for...for...six cycles? He'd lost track of the time. He was tired and hungry and in so much fragging pain it wasn't even funny. He closes his optics and leans back against the beam. Talking...talking would take his processors off of it.

...

"With...with Varta dead I didn't really know what to do... I just...started with what felt natural. Varta would bury the remains of his meals; he'd say that he was giving back to the planet what he didn't need so that it could be reused by something or someone else at a later time. Everything needed to go back to its...its 'giver' I guess I'd say, eventually. We go to the Allspark when we deactivate; Varta needed to go to whatever deity he'd believed in if any, and his body needed to return to the planet to be reused. I dug a hole in the sand floor of our shelter so that the occasional wind storm wouldn't uncover him, then dragged him into the hole and filled it in with sand. I'd had tears in my optics the entire freaking time...

"I tidied up our home and placed things around the grave. His backpack, a dagger he'd said was given to him by someone he'd looked up to when he was young; both of them placed right on it. I'd forgotten about his translator necklace and still...still had it around my neck actually. I'd taken his spear and scarf and exited our shelter, walked a few yards from the entrance, and stuck the top of the spear into the ground so that the sharp part stuck up in the air. The black fabric had been impaled onto the spear, and I'd tied it so that it couldn't simply be blown off. A marker.

"I'd wiped my optics for the hundredth time and began collecting supplies onto my makeshift sled; energon, medical supplies, weapons- slowly dragging them onto the deactivated Cybertronian's ship one trip at a time. Over and over and over until I'd had everything I needed on board. I...I could get off the planet! Fragging finally! But I'd be leaving Varta behind so that I could save myself.

"My thoughts had been so...so warped. Varta's death struck a nerve that had me breaking down- but I was _willing_ to leave him behind just so I could save myself! H-how fragged up can you be...?

"But I was- am- a survivor. My creators had offlined and then Varta'd been killed? I'd loved him like a brother. But I'd also loved my sire and carrier and left them behind without much thought on it. I did...I did the exact same thing with Varta. He was gone. I'd needed to move on and keep fighting.

"The only freaking problem with that was I didn't know how to work the decativated mech's ship. So many buttons and switches- and I couldn't even read most of them because I...well, didn't really know _how_ to read most things in the Cybertronian scripts. The only things I knew how to work were the steering and communications.

"At first, I wasn't really thinking about trying the comm.- I mean, they hadn't worked any other time we'd tried them in crashed ships. But that ship wasn't crashed. So I'd activated it and closed my optics when I heard static- and then a voice. * _Kudos? Where the frag are you?! Been tryin' to get a hold of you all flippin' cycle!*_

"The voice had made me jump- the femme speaking sounded very upset.

" _*Helloooo? Kudos?! Answer me slag it!*_

"She had a weird accent that I had some trouble understanding. Er...well, I guess _I_ was the one with the accent I'd heard when I found others on different planet- but it sounded natural to me since it's what I was used to. So much time away from Cybertron to develop my own speech pattern and maybe even wrong uses of grammar and sounds, and then a lot of time with an alien? Heh. Yeah. It gave you an accent.

" _*Kudos?! If you do-*_

"'H-hello...?'

"I'd flinched when it sounded like the femme had hit something. _*This ain't funny, Kudos! Quit jokin' around!*_

"''S-sorry, but 'Kudos' isn't here. I'm afraid he had to disappear.'

" _*What...? Then who the slaggin' Pit is this?*_

"I'd answered with my full designation: Wheelwasher. There had been a pause on her side that, now that I think of it, must've been her searching for my files on whatever computer system she'd been at.

" _*'Wheelwasher', eh? Says here you're just a little tyke an' that you went missin' 'long with your creators. Where're they at? Put one of 'em on for me.*_

"'F-from the war we fled- but now creators a-are dead.' It...had hurt a lot more than I thought it would to say that to the femme. Besides when Varta'd asked me about my 'parents' he called them when we still hadn't known each other too well, I hadn't talked about them unless you'd count waking up with a nightmare of them.

"The femme had gone quiet on her side of the comm.s for what seemed like a long time. _*Alright, tyke- I'm...ah...sorry for your loss.*_ She'd sounded really awkward but sincere at least. _*Are ya the only one there?*_ I'd answered the affirmative. _*Alright. I'm gonna direct ya how to start up ol'_ Ranger _then, got it? She's a bit temperamental on startup, so try keepin' your hands steady.*_

"She'd directed me through the whole procedure, answering any questions that I'd asked her; and asking some of her own. She sounded downfallen when Kudos- who I'd figured was the medic- was offline; I think after that she only helped me either 'cause've my age or to get the ship back. She'd been right when she said the ship- _Ranger_ \- was temperamental. Some of the switches hadn't wanted to stay after I'd flipped them, so I'd been forced to do it a few times. _*She should be ready to take off now, tyke. All you've gotta do is start up her engine like I told you and steer her where you wanna go. Once ya get outta that planet's atmosphere, radar should start workin' again and lead ya back home.*_

"'To get off this planet I'll be enthralled. ...H-hey miss, what're you called?'

"The femme had laughed softly, and I hadn't been able to help smiling a little bit at the sound of it. She had a pretty laugh that reminded me of Mommy's. _*Designation's Highrider tyke. Call me Rider for the sake'o time, an' I go by sir instead'o miss.*_

"I'd smiled and nodded even though she couldn't see me. I was ready for takeoff.

"Before I made _Ranger_ lift off though, I stood up in the big seat and looked out the window. As far as I knew, I would never see LV-117 again after I left it. I looked to the marker I'd put in the ground, then our shelter. I remember saluting just like I'd seen soldiers do to me on the streets of Cybertron with smiles on their face-plates. Then I plopped right back into the seat and took off. I never did look back- though I still miss Varta a lot.

"Ya know, I flew for what seemed like a long time. Only Highrider's voice over the comm. kept me doing the right things. It's also all that kept me awake. I'd started getting so tired, but she got so loud when I wouldn't answer that it jerked me right back online. We chatted for my whole trip even though I could tell we were both getting exhausted. That's...well...that's why I didn't notice the dinging coming from the console at first. Rider noticed it only after we'd stopped talking so we could get fuel. We...we weren't the only ones who needed fuel...

"Apparently, Kudos' whole reason for landing at our shelter was because the _Ranger_ was getting low on fuel. He was going to ask us for some help. Rider must've figured he'd gotten the fuel he needed; that's...probably why she never brought it up to me...

"Highrider told me that I needed to land as soon as I could. It didn't help. After what I'd guess had been sleepless cycle after sleepless cycle, _Ranger_ stopped working. Its thrusters shut down, and it started running only on backup power to keep communications up; now its only movement was because of the momentum it'd already had. I-it would keep going until it crashed or was knocked onto another course. I'd been beyond scared. I'd been fragging _terrified_. I knew what happened when a ship didn't work right. I still have two empty gaps in my spark to show exactly what happens.

"Rider tried to help me. She really did. But with the knowledge of ships I had? There wasn't much I could tell her about the problem so she could actually help.

"Eventually, the backup power finally went out. I never heard from Highrider again when the comm.s shut down. I was left in darkness; the stars around me, the cubes of energon, and my optics and headlight were the only lights perhaps for lightyears. I'd...started to panic about what I'm just gonna guess was the third cycle after the blackout. I'd felt trapped. Like easy prey even though there was nothing on that ship to hurt me but myself. I was exhausted and paranoid. I remember that I'd just wanted out of there. I wanted off that fragging ship. I hadn't cared where I'd go, I just couldn't be trapped. I'd never been trapped before. I'd always been able to go into the city ruins by our home if I ever needed to clear my processors. But when I was stuck on the _Ranger_ , there were strong metal panels and a few thick windows on all sides. I'd been tempted to just try blowing a hole in the side of the ship, as stupid as it would've been.

"At one point, I fell into recharge simply because of my exhaustion. It was a dreamless charge; my processors too overworked to even try accessing memory files.

"When I'd woken, I saw a planet far out in the distance. At least, I thought it was a planet. It was hard to see it. It was blocking the stars and had a few lights here and there; but it didn't orbit any sun and didn't look like it was in any solar system.

"First I'd felt hope- that cruel, bitter fragger. That hope had quickly been shoved aside by panic. The ship was headed toward it. Hey, maybe there'd be fuel! That was my initial thought. But I couldn't control _Ranger_ with its power down. It wouldn't have mattered if there was fuel or not on that planet. _Ranger_ was on a collision course with it. My biggest concern wouldn't be trying to get fuel to get off the planet; it would be _surviving the crash_ onto the planet's surface.

"I still remember my thoughts even if I don't remember what I'd done very well. I'd started panicking again. I couldn't get into another crash. I couldn't! I needed to survive whatever was thrown my way! I had to! I had to! I'd...actually started talking, praying not to die as cliche as it sounds.

"'Mommy, Daddy? I-I miss you. I really do. B-but I'm not ready to come see you again. Please don't take me yet.' That is what I'd said. Word-for-word. It was then that I actually realized how terrified of deactivating I really was. I wasn't ready to see Primus or my creators then. I'm still not. Though I miss them so much, I don't want to see my creators for a long time. Seeing them would mean that my spark's gone out. I don't want that. But back on the _Ranger_ , I honestly thought that's what would happen.

"The planet had a stronger gravitational pull than I'd expected from something so much smaller than LV. It pulled _Ranger_ in without any trouble.

"The next thing I'd known, I was opening my optics with the _Ranger_ torn apart around me. I'd been thrown from my seat and was cut up all over. Clearly the explosives I'd packed away had gone off in the crash; there'd been warped, blackened panels and a huge hole that clearly wasn't from the crash itself in the side of the ship.

"I'd ached all over, and there were pieces of metal and glass that had gotten stuck in my armor and protoform. There hadn't been much light either. Most of it was from my optics and energon that I'd been leaking up to that point. My headlight was cracked and kept flickering- keeping it on only disoriented me in the darkness. I remember that my hands had been shaking when I pulled pieces of metal out of my own limbs and chest, biting my dentia together from the pain of it.

"There'd been one plate stuck in my left shoulder-joint that hurt when I so much as touched it. I knew I'd needed to get it out though. It could've offlined me if I tried transforming with it there; at the very least, it would've torn my arm off. I'd already had that happen once, and even now it's still got my arm fragged-up. Yeah, maybe I should get a replacement- but how the Pit'm I gonna do that without anyone to actually do it right? So just shut up and let me talk, alright? Frag...

"I'd pulled it free after a couple of attempts and just threw it aside, gripping my shoulder until it stopped leaking. I knew I'd have more important things to worry about than a couple cuts. Frag, I didn't even know where I was. I was hoping for Cybertron- but I also knew that because hope was a false freaking sentiment, it probably wasn't. I just had to pray there'd be Energon or a decent alternative; most of my store had been destroyed when the explosives went off.

"Surprise, surprise, the comm.s were down. Oh, wait: the entire freaking ship was down before it'd even crashed. I'd ignored it completely- I knew I wouldn't be calling anyone on it anymore. So, clutching my shoulder, I'd just started digging through any of my supplies that had survived. Now survival just came naturally. You'd think I'd panicked after I realized I was alone again. Pit, I thought I would've too. But I was more panicked before the crash then after it'd actually happened. But I also knew than panicking could get you hurt or killed. It wasn't safe- especially when you weren't familiar with where you were.

"There hadn't been much I could salvage. A couple cubes of energon that I'd have to ration, small explosives and pellets I'd kept in subspace, and my slingshot. My fur-cape was still in okay shape, though the end of it was singed. My medical data-pad was safe in subspace and so was my welder. That...that was it. Everything else was destroyed...

"I was there for cycles- there wasn't any sun to tell me when it was night or day. It set my recharge off a lot. I'd also realized quickly that the planet was made of metal, but had an organic-like setup. It was...so strange...

"It hadn't been long before I met the strange inhabitants of the planet. They were curious of me, and kinda frightening with big teeth and sharp claws. They spoke a strange language I couldn't understand. I tried talking to them. They never understood. Not until I'd asked them if that was Cybertron. They'd immediately become interested and ushered me away from the _Ranger_ , which I'd been using as shelter. They led me to a massive palace of sorts...

* * *

 **AN:** Hmm...where are these creatures taking him? If you've read a certain storybook or watched G1, you might know...


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